
An American in Paris
- NOT RATED
- Year:
- 1951
- 114 min
- 1,562 Views
(5.00 / 2 votes)This is Paris.
And I'm an American
who lives here.
My name, Jerry Mulligan...
... and I'm an ex-G.I.
In 1945, when the Army
told me to find my own job...
... I stayed on.
And I'll tell you why.
I'm a painter.
All my life that's all
I've ever wanted to do.
For a painter,
the mecca of the world for study...
... for inspiration and for living...
... is here on this star called Paris.
Just look at it.
No wonder so many artists
have come here and called it home.
Brother, if you can't paint in Paris,
give up and marry the boss' daughter.
We're on the Left Bank now.
That's where I'm billeted.
Here's my street.
In the past couple of years...
... I've gotten to know
practically everyone on the block.
And a nicer bunch
you'll never meet.
Back home everyone
said I didn't have any talent.
They might be saying
the same thing over here...
... but it sounds better in French.
I live upstairs.
No, not there.
One flight up.
Jerry!
Those are three of my pals.
Etienne, Maurice and Jacques.
I'm their man because
I give them American bubble gum.
I have a lot of
good friends in Paris.
A lot of very good friends.
And I am one of them.
Adam Cook is my name.
I'm a concert pianist.
That's a pretentious way of
saying I'm unemployed at the moment.
I live in the same brick pile
with young Rembrandt.
That's not me.
He's too happy.
I'm here on a scholarship.
Last year, I won the Hackenwall prize
and was sent abroad to study.
That's the eighth fellowship I've won.
And you know something?
Not only that, but I'm beginning to feel
like the world's oldest child prodigy.
One time I ran out of fellowships
and had to go to work for a living.
I had to stop because
I discovered I liked it...
... and I didn't want to become
a slave to the habit.
It's not a pretty face, I grant you.
But underneath its flabby exterior
is an enormous lack of character.
I like Paris.
run into old friends.
Although that's never
been one of my problems.
Strangely enough, I made a friend
over here once. I worked for him.
His name was Henri Baurel.
You know, the French music hall star?
Do you remember him?
I do, because that's me.
Adam was a fine accompanist.
I wish he were still with me.
My, how nice to be
in the old quarter!
You see?
Everybody recognizes me.
I guess I haven't changed
so much after all.
They've known me a long time.
But now, don't misunderstand.
I don't mean
to imply that I am old.
I'm not.
After all, I am only...
Well, what's the difference?
No, that's not me.
I am not that young.
Let's just say...
... I am old enough to know what to do
with my young feelings.
Right?
- Georges!
- Henri Baurel!
- Henri!
- Mathilde!
Adam?
You used to
sing it a tone higher.
I'm a big boy now.
My voice is changing.
- Shall I come up?
- No, I'll be right down.
Hey, Georges,
some coffee!
Henri, I'm going to
make you an "omelette la confiture".
Don't kiss me.
You'll spoil my makeup.
You look great, Hank.
What're you doing?
Taking injections?
Something much better.
I hear your show's a big hit.
It is, "naturellement".
- When did you get over?
- Last March.
I phoned you,
but there was no answer.
I'd have phoned again, but I was
afraid you might be in.
March? I wasn't in Paris then.
Lise and I were
visiting friends in Juan-les-Pins.
- Some coffee, please.
- What are you working on?
- Same old concert.
- When will you give it?
When I can't figure out
any more reasons not to.
Some coffee, please.
I took Lise to hear
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"An American in Paris" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 21 Apr. 2021. <https://www.scripts.com/script/an_american_in_paris_2687>.